Easier to Run
by Paper Grenade
Summary: She waited a month for her brothers to find her, before setting off on her own. Along the way, she found out just how low humanity had sunk. [No pairings for now!]


_She tried to ignore the noise of her phone, ringing incessantly, as she threw random items into a bag at the end of her bed. She didn't have time for this shit. Dead people, up and walking around; the end of the fucking world as she knew it, and everyone she knew and their goddamn mothers were calling her. After her phone started to ring for what felt like the fiftieth time, she answered, snapping out an irritated "what the hell do you want?" and being rewarded with an indignant huff._

_"Damn girl, make me think you're dead or somethin' and then answer the phone like that?" _

_Her brother's voice brought an unwanted smile to her lips, and she tucked her phone carefully between her cheek and shoulder as she resumed packing. "Case you haven't noticed, the world is fuckin' endin'. My roommate just tried to _eat_ me and the news is actin' like this is some kinda reason to get the entire state of Georgia into one city so we can all eat each _other_!" She couldn't help the way her voice rose at the end. With a grimace, she threw more canned foods into a duffel bag._

_There was an almost inaudible sigh from the other end, before her brother spoke again, his voice weary. "Tay, listen to me, alright? I'm headin' to pick our brother up, then we're gonna head to Atlanta. There's a quarry, not too far from there, good for huntin'. I figure we can ride it out there. I want you to meet us there."_

_She took a shaky breath before she answered, running a hand through her hair. "I will if I can, but it looked like those military assholes already closed off the roads outta town. I might be stuck here." Her stomach twisted nervously as she waited for her brother's response._

_"Okay, just... just stay there. Barricade your door or somethin', and don't let _anyone _in, you hear me? I'll come for you."_

* * *

Taylor woke with a start, a cold sweat dampening her hair and forehead. As much as she trusted her brother to keep his word—she was blood, and to him, blood was everything—she couldn't help but worry that he had gotten himself killed trying to get to her. She knew that, despite what her brother thought, whatever this was wouldn't go away anytime soon.

It had been ten days since the phone call—she hadn't received any others since then, and eventually, her phone died. She didn't know where her brothers were; she could only hope they had gotten to the quarry he had told her of and were safe, though she knew that they would never pass up the opportunity to kill some of the dead freaks that were now up and about. Still, she couldn't help but worry. She knew she wasn't cut out for this world—her gentle-hearted mother had raised her for sixteen years before her father ever came into the picture, and she had never really gotten the chance to bond with him or her brothers before she was off to college.

The canned foods she had previously packed were running dangerously low, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she would have to leave the safety of her apartment. Two twenty-year-old women who had never been a part of their fathers' lives weren't the best candidates for survival, though her roommate, Leslie, had been one of the first to go. She would be the first to admit that she doubted her chances of survival were very high.

She sat down across from the worn duffel bag, pulling the few remaining cans from the bag, grimacing at the selection: baked beans, refried beans, and kidney beans. _These _would_ be the last to go_, she thought sourly, scrunching her nose at the variety. She had never been fond of beans—as a child, that was one of the few things her mother had easy access to, and most meals consisted of at least one type of bean—but her roommate was, what she had affectionately dubbed, a "bean fanatic." If not for Taylor, she would have eaten beans every day of her life.

She decided, her face grim as she stared down at the assorted beans, that she would go on a run tomorrow. She couldn't force herself to eat the beans, even if it meant facing those dumb, dead bastards in the streets.

* * *

She woke as the sun was rising and began to get ready for the supply run she would be going on—hopefully the only run she would have to make for a while. Even though the _things_ she had seen were technically dead, she didn't want to have to run past them if she could help it.

Her clothes were looser than she remembered them being, though not by much. She still noticed the difference, and grabbed one of her spare belts, strapping her machete's sheath to it before walking to her kitchen. The cans of beans sat next to a black duffel, and she shoved them aside before bundling the duffel up and sticking it in her backpack. She would probably make more noise when she headed back from the store, with hopefully the duffel full of non-perishables, but it was a risk she was willing to take.

She found an old map of Atlanta in Leslie's room, some street names missing from the constant refolding of the paper, but the area around her still recognizable. Her apartment was only a couple blocks away from the convenience store Leslie shopped at, and she hoped, as she mapped out the easiest and least noticeable route, that the store hadn't been raided yet.

She decided to take alleyways, staying off the main roads, though the amount of infected people in the street were few and far between—they had all likely gotten attracted to another part of the city, and she felt sorry for any poor bastard that stumbled upon them. As it was, luck was on her side, and she didn't run into any of those things on the way to and in the store, at least for the first few aisles.

The former woman laid on her side, a large chunk of her neck missing, jaw hanging loosely. When it saw her it tried to stand, jaw snapping at the air, and the word _biter_ automatically popped into her head. Before the biter could finish standing, Taylor unsheathed her machete, stabbing it through the thing's rotting forehead. She struggled to remove her weapon, careful not to make anymore noise in case there were any other biters around.

She didn't know whether to be surprised or worried that the store was hardly touched. Cans were scattered along the floor, though most shelves remained stocked, and she hurried to pack the cans in her duffel. _Everyone's luck is bound to run out, eventually,_ she thought, listening for the muffled groaning and shuffling that would signify a biter. The only noises she heard, though, were her own breathing and the cans _clink_ing together quietly.

* * *

Taylor only rested once she was safely inside her apartment once more, the door barricaded with her roommate's ugly couch. The biters had been drawn into the streets by a distant gunshot, blocking her path back to her apartment, and forcing her to take a longer route back. As she had suspected, she drew more attention after leaving the convenience store, the food in her duffel making more noise than she had thought it would. She couldn't help but think about the gunshot—just one—and the poor soul that had most likely gotten caught by the biters.

The living were harder to come by now, a fact that had Taylor cringing as she thought about it. The last living people she had seen were a young couple, or perhaps siblings, that had arrived at her barricaded door, demanding entry. Of course, she had remained quiet, knowing that the end of the world would, no doubt, bring out the worst in people. They knew she was there, though, despite her silence; the dead couldn't barricade doors. They had pounded on the door, cursing her, screaming that she was going to die, just like everyone else, and if she survived, they would find her.

The noise had eventually drawn a pack of the undead that remained in the building, chasing the couple off. She could still hear their screams sometimes, when her mind wandered and the silence got to be too much to bear.

* * *

She decided, after another five days passed in silence, that she would leave her apartment at the end of the month. The worn calendar she always held onto helped her keep track of time; it had been early June when the first case of the disease was announced, only a few days passing before it had increased to several hundred. On the first of July, she would leave, take her car, and head to the quarry her brother had told her about.

A week passed quickly, and Taylor found herself praying, for once in her life, that her brothers would be at that quarry, or that they would come for her. Her food was diminishing, only enough cans left to get her through the end of the month. Thankfully, the water in her apartment still worked, keeping her bottles and gallon jugs full.

The end of the month came faster than she expected, and she couldn't have been happier to finally make her way from the city. She didn't have much—just enough food to keep her going for a while, a few water bottles.

Her machete sheath was secured to her belt, though she held the weapon tightly in her left hand. Her roommate's handgun was tucked in her backpack, hidden under the little amount of clothes she had decided to bring along, useless with her lack of gun training. With an inaudible sigh, she quietly pulled the furniture away from her door, preparing herself for the journey ahead.

* * *

_**Hello! It's been a LONG time since I have written and posted a story, but here one is! Of course, it's a work in progress, and has NO chapters following it. Additionally, I haven't decided if I'm going to continue with this as is, or change a few details (of which, could change the entire outcome of the story). **_

_**Yes, this is going to be a Walking Dead story, and yes, it will have an original character, and will most likely become some sort of romance later on down the line.**_

_**Anyway, please leave any comments about what you think! :D**_


End file.
